Murmurs spread like wildfire, deities exchanging tense glances, some gripping the arms of their thrones in apprehension.
"The Serpent of Cresbel had been sealed since the dawn of civilization, its prison woven from the combined might of gods, ancient dragons, and spirits dare I say, beyond divinity. For it to even shift, let alone crack…"
"Explain yourself, Guardian," another god demanded, his voice cold and sharp like a blade drawn from its sheath.
The Guardian of the Cage leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table before intertwining his fingers. His expression was unreadable, but the weight behind his words was absolute.
"There is no reason for this. No reason for even the slightest tremor, let alone a crack. Yet…" He paused, his golden eyes burning with something unspoken. "The Serpent—no, Cresbel itself—has begun to stir. And it is furious."
The chamber, vast and eternal, seemed to shrink under the weight of those words. The assembled gods sat frozen, their divine presences flickering with unease.
"Something is wrong. There are forces moving in the world—unknown entities appearing without warning, anomalies that should not exist. The very land itself is shifting against us. Cresbel's bond with the beast is growing stronger, its connection deepening. And if the world becomes one with the Serpent…"
A god of war clenched his fists, the space around him distorting from sheer force. "Then everything will be lost, once more."
The Guardian nodded grimly. "It has already begun. The winds are shifting. The tides have changed. Stronger creatures are being born at an unnatural rate, as if the world itself is evolving—preparing for something. But that isn't the worst of it." He exhaled, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I have seen Vaelith the Dreamwalker… near the cage."
A shudder passed through the chamber. The name itself was enough to silence even the most powerful among them. Vaelith—an entity outside of time, a being whose very existence fractured reality. A being that was said to be Cresbel given human form. A dream of the world of which the world controlled all.
The Guardian continued, his tone sharpening. "His presence alone is distorting time. The cage's space is warping, growing lighter, as if the weight of eternity is no longer enough to hold it. But worst of all..."
He leaned forward, his next words carrying the force of an unbreakable decree.
"The Serpent has awakened."
The room erupted. Deities who had existed since the dawn of time, beings who had witnessed the birth and death of civilizations, now recoiled in pure, unfiltered dread. The Serpent of Cresbel—the being they had sacrificed everything to seal away—had opened its eyes for the first time since the day they cast it into the abyss.
The massive doors to the divine chamber, forged from the very bones of creation gods, slammed open with a force that shook the fabric of Astraea itself. A howling wind rushed through the sacred halls, carrying with it the whispers of countless forgotten dreams, a storm of shifting realities folding in upon themselves.
Every god in the room turned, their divine senses screaming in protest. What entered was not mortal. Not a god. Not even a divine being.
At first, it had no form—just a mass of swirling, shifting illusions, a dream of clouds given movement. Its shape blurred, contorted, unraveling into something that was and was not, existing in the space between thought and being.
Then, in an instant, it materialized.
A man? A silhouette? No, something beyond such simplistic descriptions. Vaelith stood before them, his presence unraveling reality with every breath he took. His body still wavered at the edges, the remnants of dreams clinging to him like mist. He was a being who defied existence itself, a fragment of something far beyond the comprehension of even gods.
And then—he spoke.
His voice was not loud, yet it carried through the chamber like a decree written into the stars themselves. Each word he uttered reshaped the space around him. The marble beneath his feet turned to sand, then water, then nothing. The golden chandeliers overhead melted into constellations, the walls rippled as if they were made of liquid. The very concept of the room warped and bled under the weight of his presence.
"The cage will break."
The sentence tore through the chamber like a blade across the veil of reality. The gods stiffened, their forms flickering as they fought to remain anchored in this moment.
"You think yourselves eternal. Unshakable. You believe your will is law. And yet, the world you claim dominion over..." Vaelith exhaled, and the air itself fractured, splintering like fragile glass under the weight of his presence. The very concept of reality shuddered at his words.
"...no longer belongs to you."
A pause. A slow, deliberate tilt of his head.
"No. It never did."
His voice, though soft, carried a weight far beyond mortal comprehension, beyond even the gods who sat in trembling silence. "This world was never yours. You are parasites—dirty, small, pathetic things clinging to what was never meant for you."
The room swelled with divine outrage, but before any could act, the Guardian of the Cage moved.
He slammed his hands onto the table, the force of his fury splitting the very floor of the celestial chamber, divine energy pouring from the cracks like molten light. "Vaelith!" he roared, his voice shaking the firmaments. "What have you done?!"
A flicker. A distortion.
The Guardian's eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat.
A blade, one that had never existed and yet had always been, shimmered through reality itself. Shifting, twisting—a weapon of dreams and nightmares given form. The Guardian's body split open.
Silence.
The gods barely had time to comprehend what had happened before his form collapsed. His divine essence unraveled, his towering figure shrinking, twisting, degrading into something infinitely lesser.
A single, fragile ant.
Vaelith gazed down at him, expression unreadable. Then, with casual indifference, he lifted his foot and crushed him beneath his heel.
A god, once eternal, was gone in an instant.
Vaelith stepped forward. And the universe screamed.
The laws of existence buckled.
Planets realigned in space. Stars flickered, their light stuttering as if fearing what stood before them. Time itself bent, past and future folding, colliding, unraveling and reforming as possibilities shattered and rewrote themselves in the same breath.
The gods, who had forged the world, who had sealed away the ancient terror known as the Serpent of Cresbel at the cost of their very essence—felt true fear.
Vaelith's smile was slow, deliberate, a thing of cruel amusement.
"I am but a dream." Vaelith's voice echoed, weightless yet absolute.
A god of war lunged, his divine claws slicing through Vaelith's body—flesh parted, blood spilling onto the floor in thick, crimson streams.
Yet, it was not Vaelith who collapsed.
It was the god himself. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and his body crashed to the ground with a deafening thud. His strength—his divinity—vanished in an instant.
Vaelith looked down at him, amusement flickering behind his ever-shifting gaze. "You attempt to wound something that does not exist. As I said... I am but a dream."
His grin widened.
A shadow surged forth, a nightmare given shape.
It twisted into existence—a monstrous entity with five grotesque heads, seven gnarled legs, and over seventy eyes, each a swirling abyss of pure horror. Its enormous, black-scaled tail coiled, shaking the foundations of the celestial realm.
The beast did not hesitate.
It devoured the God of War whole.
No screams. No resistance. Only the cold, merciless silence of inevitability.
Then—nothing.
The nightmare vanished, dissipating into the void from which it was born.
And the God of War. He was back in his seat, his body untouched, his wounds erased, his power restored.
Yet he trembled for the first time since he had existed.
Vaelith exhaled, as if disappointed. "Do not fight me." His voice was calm, almost pitying. "You stand no chance."
His gaze swept across the divine council, his smirk laced with cruel amusement. "If you still doubt, if you still wish to challenge me—then come. I will fight you all. But I warn you…" His expression darkened, voice dipping into something impossibly ancient, impossibly deep.
"I feel bad for bullying such weak things who call themselves 'gods' and 'divine'."
A mockery of sorrow crossed his face, an expression so false it only deepened the terror in the room.
Then—he turned.
He took a single step forward—and reality unraveled.
His form ceased to be.
The world snapped back into place as though he had never been there, the weight of his presence erased.
The Guardian of the Cage gasped, lurching upright. Blood poured from his mouth as he clutched his chest, his body wracked with violent coughs.
He was alive.